A Remnant of Forgotten Gods
by BlazeBlaster1999
Summary: "Take heed. For not all myths started as simple stories to be brushed off. And not all Beings thought lost are as lost as many would hope. Some have simply been forgotten." "Why were they forgotten?" "Child, that is a tale that would take millennium to properly tell. But it began when twelve children were born..."
**Hi Guys, Blaze here.**

 **Its been like a month since I updated… well… anything really. Lots of crap has been happening lately, (nearly) finishing high school (got like two weeks to go), going around and submitting job applications, and lots of other stuff.**

 **Also, if you come across any grammar or spelling mistakes, please tell me. My computer hates Warhammer and RWBY names.**

 **Anyway, this is the Rewrite of The Gods of Remnant, hope you enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY or Warhammer 40K, they are owned by Rooster Teeth and Games Workshop respectively.**

 **So, This humble author presents for your reading pleasure.**

 **The Remnant of Forgotten Gods**

Black, empty, void.

These are all adjectives that can be used to describe the place He had found Himself in.

He wondered after a time where He was, or how long it had been since He found Himself here, but He could not tell. Time, Space, and even Identity had been stripped from any who entered this place.

So, He simply drifted, content to wait for whatever happens, to happen.

His last memory was of that damnable Shaman-spawn ripping His soul from the mortal shell He had been inhabiting, 'What was his name, Ho'Russ? Bah, it doesn't matter.' Before a searing Light struck him through and a Burning, Rending, Pain racked his immaterial Soul for what seemed like hours.

Eventually, the Being began to see a disc of light pierce through the Void, and the Being saw three figures standing upon the light's back.

Eventually, the light came closer, and he could see the figures perched on its back better, one a short Asian 'man' in ambiguous clothing and with light blond hair, a second man with grey hair and black suit with a green shirt poking through, and holding a… Cane? The third, however, was a woman with a black and red dress.

But that wasn't what caught his attention.

Her skin was white, and not in the usual way. No her skin was a pasty white like the color of dried bones, with red trails like bloody tears running down the sides of her face. And her eyes.

Oh god, her eyes.

A crimson red that seemed to be lit from within by some malevolent power, that positively _screamed_ to him the amount of death that this woman, this… _thing_ had caused.

And then He started to see what had become of his Soul after the Light had struck it through.

And what He saw horrified him.

No longer was he the angelic visage of Immortal, ageless, perfection. Now His form was twisted beyond comprehension.

What had once been copper skin, unblemished and unscarred, was now a mass of blackened scales and leathery, pale, paper-thin skin. His wings, once covered in beautiful white and golden plumage, was now twig-like and had leather webbing like as a dragon. His hands, a mass of scales and bones that looked more like claws now.

As He slowly came out of his shock His mind started to come up with reasons the figures could be coming for him. Did they come to kill him? To mock Him for His failure? To torture him for the endless span that was Eternity?

Which is why their first words shocked the ancient, primordial being beyond belief.

"Hello," Said the Woman that absolutely reeked of Murder, while the two men simply stood back with a wary look, as if they wished to stop them, but were unwilling, or unable, to interfere, "My name is Salem and I have a… Proposition for you."

Line Break

'This is the best day of my life.' she thought, as she carried her baby son from the hospital where she had given birth a few days before 'My husband beside me, my baby in my arms, and driving back to our new house.'

The woman was rather plain, with short black hair and warm brown eyes, however her plain exterior hid a backbone stronger than ceramite, and a heart the size of an Emperor Class titan.

And compared to her, her husband looked like he had crawled out of a tomb.

His tall, lean, form looked like a stiff wind would blow him over, and with skin like parchment paper, it was no wonder the nurses looked at her funny when she said he was her husband, Mal, after all, looked like death warmed over.

As the two pulled into the driveway of their two-story home they noticed a figure, sitting on the bench in front of their house, before rising when he saw their car.

The man was tall, easily six and a half feet tall, and with what appeared to be grey leather armor underneath a black cloak he made for a rather intimidating figure.

As Mal stopped the car he gave her a look and simply said "Wait here." In his normal, raspy tone.

She rolled her eyes, and tried to get comfortable as her husband talked to the stranger on their doorstep, 'Honestly' she thought with a touch of annoyance 'I'm a huntress, I can handle myself.'

After a bit she could see Mal starting to become agitated, though it was little things that tipped her off, the slight tensing of his grip around his staff, a tightening around his eyes, and before she knew what was happening the stranger leapt forward and backhanded Mal into the side of the car and sent it rolling across the middle of the road.

With her still in it.

The last thing she noticed before her world went black wasn't that she was on her side, and it wasn't that she could hear sounds of people screaming outside through the shattered windows.

No, the last thing she saw was the man she loved being stabbed through, with a sword that positively glowed with malevolent power, before bursting into strangely glittering black dust, and the 'man' turning oddly glowing red eyes towards her before unfurling massive black wings, reminiscent to a bat's, and rocketing into the sky.

Line Break

Hei 'Junior' Xiong was a lot of things, but evil he was not.

Cruel and sadistic at times, sure, but there were boundaries he hadn't… _wouldn't,_ cross.

So when one of his regular customers, an up and coming thief by the name of Roman Torchwick, informed him about a slaving ring in his city, well, he decided to show the scumbags why _he_ was the boss.

Which is what got him in his current predicament.

Namely, the small, pink eyed girl they had found in one of the rooms...

With two grown men.

The end result? Two dead bodies, mutilated beyond belief, and a little girl who was thoroughly traumatized, and currently shivering in cold and shock against Neapolitan, Torchwick's associate's, side.

'Honestly' Junior thought, 'what idiot names their child after _ice cream_ of all things?'

And then with a sigh and another look at the small girl that his men had just informed was listed on the registry for a rather shady orphanage as _adopted,_ well, he just wondered when his life had become such a disaster.

Line Break

Isha was a small girl, no more than ten years old (but if you asked her she would proudly claim she was "Ten and a quarter" to the general amusement of whoever heard her) and was a kind child.

With long blond hair and with eyes the color of grass, her mother's favorite nickname for her was 'little angel,' though why she was friends with those _Faunus_ boys she would never know.

So when she brought back a boy with grey hair and radioactive green eyes, and so thin you could see his ribs through the ratty, faded, green shirt that looked around three sizes too big for his frame and claimed she was going to marry him, no one was really surprised.

Line Break

No one really knew what happened at night on the house at the end of the road.

No one payed attention to the screams and howls of pain that they could hear some nights.

No one even knew the name of the man who lived there, they simply knew that he was an ex-Hunter, though, what you would have to do to have your license revoked, no one wanted to know.

All anyone knew was that one night an earth-shattering bang filled the previously quiet night air.

The next morning the home was covered in police tape and they were hauling a crying, screaming ram-Faunus that was positively frothing at the mouth into the back of a police car.

That Sunday, the morning paper read.

 **EX-HUNTER, MURDERED BY FAUNUS SON WITH HIS OWN WEAPON.**

Line Break

A blue eyed boy, probably no more than eleven or twelve, was sitting in the park, his weapon that he had just finished assembling laying across his lap, as he regaled his mother with a humorous story that his teacher at the academy had told them, about the time he slew an Ursa with no more than a can of shaving cream, a pineapple, and fifteen pounds of potassium.

After a time, the child seemed to grow sleepy, and leaned against his mother and closed his eyes.

In what seemed like an instant his eyes snapped open and his mouth was opened in a silent scream, leaping off of the bench, and looking around like a cornered beast.

After a few moments of his mother coaxing him out of his panic she asked him what had caused his sudden, and rather frightening, awakening.

He simply said nothing, and eventually his mother dropped the topic.

He never told a soul what he saw.

After all, who would believe him if he said he watched the world burn, heard their screams, and listened to himself laugh.


End file.
